


What Pride Had Wrought

by wrongwayco



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s07e13 Knightfall, Gen, KnightRook, Once upon a time season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 20:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongwayco/pseuds/wrongwayco
Summary: Canon-compliant little fic towards the end of Knightfall, after Gothel transports Killian out of the tower. Angst abounds.





	What Pride Had Wrought

**Author's Note:**

> my mind likes angst and sadness, apparently. Sorry? I desperately hope these two get a hug in canon soon. They both could use one.

Killian was closing in on ten years of age when he awoke in the middle of the night, to an unlit lantern on a storm-tossed ship.

He remembered the frantic call of fear in his blood, his utter disbelief at the Captain’s accusations, and finally the bitter resignation when he realized he and his brother had been left behind, when he had to face the kind of man his father truly was.

When he learned the sort of man he wanted to grow into, or, perhaps, the sort he _didn’t._

At ten years old, he knew one thing for certain - he did not want to be the one to leave someone behind.

His mother had told him so, as he held her hand, his small palm pressed close to her clammy one, as her sickness returned with a vengeance and an intention to claim, to steal away what was his.

_“I don’t want to leave you, Killian, you or your brother, but sometimes our choices are made for us.”_

He could barely remember the curve of her smile or the bright lilt to her voice, but he remembered her words and offered them to his child in kind. He would stay with his girl, for as long as he could. He would not promise her forever, for he knew one day, already long overdue, death would rise to claim Captain Hook, as it had claimed his mother, his brother, and his love.

He’d only hoped to see her free before his time came at last, and as his body throbbed and his lungs ached, his vision blurring with the pain that seized him, he wondered if he’d failed in that, too.

As Gothel disappeared in a blast of dark smoke, Killian scrambled in the mud, fighting the heavy weakness in his limbs as he struggled to rise, his gaze drawn up to the tower’s window. As his daughter’s cries bled into the night and echoed in his ears, misery seeping in as the dirt leeched the warmth from his veins, he realized what it was to reach from one’s pedestal and ultimately fall.

_He’s my father. He’s a good man!_

_Not good enough._

He never truly was.

He’d tried, certainly. Killian had chosen his path the day of his daughter’s birth and never strayed, but once.

He’d stepped away for mere moments, a single drop of water in the vast ocean of his too-long life, but that, it seemed, was all she needed, to cast the stone to shatter the glass.

_You will fail her, again and again._

He could see Alice’s face, stained to the backs of his eyelids - the crestfallen look she’d given him, disbelief turning down the corners of her mouth as the blasted _witch_ laid his sins bare on the floor between them - and felt his stomach turn over, acid burning the back of his throat.

_You promised me._

He closed his fingers around the black rook in his pocket and let his eyes fall closed.

Killian considered himself well-versed in the game, once, but Gothel was a far superior player, and he lost so much more than a match when her poisoned bullet struck him.

He should never have played at all, but a lesson learned too late did him little good.

Killian took a breath and pushed himself up to his knees, before managing one foot flat in the dirt.

He ground his teeth against the pang in his chest, agony shooting through his limbs to the tips of his fingers, and cast his eyes upwards.

It would be a hell of a climb, he knew, but he’d reached such heights before.

Alice’s pleas continued into the night and Killian rose on shaking knees, his breaths coming short and ragged, but he was certain in one thing.

His child would not be left behind this night, not while he drew breath.

He took one step, then another, boots dragging in the mud as the dull ache burned and raged into a fire he could feel deep under his skin, rattling his teeth and melting into his bones, but Killian Jones was no longer playing games. The only one he cared for, the one thing he refused to lose, was beckoning.

_“_ Papa _, please!”_

He sank his hook into a crack in the weathered stone, looked to the sky, and began to climb.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. <3


End file.
